


Bad Wolf Don't Bite No More

by DistantShores



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Drunk Peter, Drunk Stiles, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7761325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantShores/pseuds/DistantShores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wants to celebrate his 19th birthday with a little bit of booze and turns to an unexpected source to supply for him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Wolf Don't Bite No More

**Author's Note:**

> First real foray into full-on Steter writing. Hopefully fans of this pairing enjoy it!
> 
> (I didn't have anyone beta/proof this so hopefully there aren't any glaring errors!)

"For the last time, Stiles. No!" Derek sets his foot down.

"Be reasonable, Derek!"

"I am! I'm _not_ enabling your underaged drinking!"

"Come on! You're the only one old enough in the pack to buy for us and we have nowhere else to go!" Stiles protests to no avail. His pleas only fall on deaf ears as Derek mills around his apartment.

"Doesn't alcoholism run in your family?"

That probably hurt more than Derek meant it to. Stiles milks it for all it's worth as he can feel his blood boiling just beneath his skin. "Wow, Derek… Wow. That's a low-blow, even for you."

Derek sighs clearly regretting his stinging comment and trying to placate Stiles as much as possible. "No, Stiles. And that's my final answer. I’m sorry if it's not what you want to hear."

Stiles sulks down on the couch as Derek continues to ignore him, tending to the unwashed dishes in his sink. Stiles was looking forward to turning 19 and wanted to celebrate with friends but without any booze and no one to buy for him, it was looking to be a bust. There was no way Stiles wanted to ring in his last year of being a teenager sober. There was no longer any alcohol in his house and, under the watchful eye of his father, there never would be again. At least as long as Stiles lived there. With nothing to drink and nowhere to party, Stiles was looking less and less forward to his upcoming birthday.

"Might as well let everyone know how you've ruined my-"

"This is not my fault so don't you _dare_ peg this on me!" Derek growls cracking a porcelain plate with his hands. "There are plenty of things you can do for your birthday without involving alcohol. I am _not_ the bad guy here."

"Yeah but _everyone_ was looking forward to it and now-"

"I’m not having this conversation with you anymore. There's nothing you can say or do that will make me change my mind."

"Forget it. I'm out of here," he sighs brushing past Derek in a hurry.

Derek gets a hand on Stiles' shoulder, delaying his hasty retreat. "Let me know if you change your mind and want to do something else. I'd still like to celebrate with you," Derek smiles trying to cheer up Stiles' sour disposition.

That smile. 

Stiles hesitates for a moment. Surely Derek must have noticed him pause but Stiles can be just as stubborn as Derek is. "Uh huh. Whatever. See ya," he shrugs Derek's hand off as he storms out of the loft. Stiles wanted absolutely nothing to do with Derek at this very moment and needed nothing more than to get absolutely shitfaced for his birthday. But with no access to liquor, that clearly wasn't going to happen any time soon. "Fucking elevator!" Stiles punches the buttons, busting open his knuckles, blood seeping out between the cracks in his skin. "Hurry the fuck up so I can get the Hell out of-"

The doors slide open.

"Peter!" Stiles jumps back as he is greeted by the sight of the werewolf standing inside the elevator staring back at him. Stiles quickly eyes him over: tight white henley, faint stubble, sparkly blue eyes, and weathered good looks, all the makings of a fine DILF. Peter's expression is a mix of genuine surprise and confusion as Stiles doesn't move into the elevator nor out of his way.

"Hi?" he replies back with some uncertainty as he squeezes out of the elevator door sliding past Stiles.

"What are you doing here?"

"Came to torment my favorite nephew, of course," he grins. 

“What? Are you lonely?” Stiles playfully whines. He swears Peter flinches ever so briefly at his jab. 

"Hardly,” Peter scoffs. “What about you? Why are you here?” his eyes fall on the blood on his hand, scent very apparent to Peter.

"Just leaving," Stiles grumbles begrudgingly, hiding his injury behind his back.

"Awww. Did someone not get their way?" Peter pouts back at Stiles, mockingly tracing a tear down his face.

"Shut it, Peter," he snaps at the older man. Wait a minute. Older? "Unless...you're willing to help me?"

"What's in it for me?" he immediately asks, clearly looking for an equal trade.

"The joy and satisfaction of getting me exactly what I want for my birthday," Stiles smiles ecstatically.

"Doesn't sound that great..." he sneers.

"Oh, come on, Peter," Stiles pleads. "Not you too. Derek was bad enough..."

"Oh so you’re asking me because Derek said no? What am I, your silver trophy? And you’re aware silver’s not exactly my thing, right?" Peter rolls his eyes. “So Derek wouldn't help and now you want me to...?" the inflection of his question left open for Stiles to finish.

"...to buy me and my friends alcohol and give us somewhere to drink."

"Ha!" He pauses waiting for Stiles' reaction. He doesn't receive one. "Oh wait. You were serious."

"I need booze and somewhere to drink for my party. Derek won't buy or entertain us. Can you help me out? Even if you just buy for us?"

"Why don't you have any liquor?"

"We finished everything off at our last party and now my source is gone home for the summer so I need a new supplier. Come on, Peter. Help a...friend…out?" Stiles asks again, slowing down as he realizes what words were coming out of his mouth. They hadn't hung out much outside of a few paranormal investigations but now he was asking a huge favor with nothing in return. Peter owed him nothing.

"Didn't realize we were friends..." Peter lets out an exasperated sigh, clearing growing tired of Stiles' endless pleas for help. "What do you want to drink?" he eventually relents.

"Really?!" Stiles face lights up with overwhelming joy.

"I'll see what I can do. I doubt anyone will want to come over to my place but I should be able to get you some drinks.”

"Oh my god Peter you're the best!" Stiles has to stop himself from leaping onto Peter.

"I know," he humbly answers. "So what's on the menu?"

Stiles digs his wallet out of his back pocket and hands Peter $40. "Vodka, gin, rum."

"Which one?"

"All of the above. And I'd like the change back please."

"Wait wait. You expect me to buy you all that _and_ still get change back? What kinda cheap assed, no-name garbage have you been buying where you can get that much for less than forty bucks? " he scoffs at Stiles’ choices. Stiles begins to answer before Peter interrupts. "Wait. Don't finish that. It'll be offensive to my senses. At least it explains why you smell so godawful after you drink..." Stiles turns up his nose at Peter's comment. "Well...more so than normal."

"Okay Mr. Big Shot. What do you recommend?" he snatches his $40 back out of Peter's hands.

"You'll be lucky if you can buy one bottle for that sort of money. Quality over quantity, Stiles," he winks, eliciting a much greater flustered reaction out of Stiles than expected. "Come over tomorrow evening and I'll get you some things to sample and figure out what you like and don't like. Let's refine your palate a little bit.”

"Uhm," Stiles' voice cracks, zeroing in on one particular tidbit of information from Peter. "To your place?”

"Awww,” he patronizes Stiles for the second time in as many minutes. “Are you afraid of the big bad wolf?" Peter leers in close flashing his canine teeth, running his tongue along their sharp edges.

"Not afraid of you," Stiles firmly stands his ground. "Just worried about what I can afford."

"Good taste doesn't come cheap, Stiles. Just look at me," he preens as he tugs on his shirt, fiddling with the buttons on his chest. "Maybe if you're nice, I'll buy a bottle for you."

"R-really?"

"Yes, really. It’s your birthday. Despite what everyone says, I’m not bad and evil all the time. It’s just too much effort.”

"O-okay," Stiles agrees nervously as he shuffles into the elevator. "I...guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I'll drink to that," are Peter's parting words as the elevator doors close between them.

~~~~~

Stiles’ hands wrench apprehensively on the steering wheel of his Jeep as he sits nervously outside Peter’s apartment building. For fifteen minutes. He wracks his brain trying to figure out why this was such a big deal to him. After all, it was Stiles who somehow instigated this evening of drinks. He just wanted Peter to buy alcohol and leave him alone but soon, he would be in Peter’s company, drinking his liquor. Stiles felt like his heart was in his throat and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to drink anything without it closing up, his nerves beginning to get the best of him.

Stiles rocks quietly back and forth in the driver's seat of his Jeep. “ _Come on, buddy… You can do this,_ ” he silently motivates himself to finally take that first step and open the door. It doesn’t work. Stiles slumps back in his seat, frustrated, nervous, and anxious. He let Scott know nothing more than he was ‘going out’ and to text him in an hour to check in on him. If he told Scott he was going to the living quarters of a somewhat, mostly reformed, zombie werewolf, it probably wouldn’t have gone over so well. At least he had an out if he needed it. But it’s not like Peter could do anything. He wasn’t even an alpha. He was just the strange but creepy uncle, Peter Hale. His bark was much worse than his bite.

Stiles’ phone alerts him to a text message as he reaches blindly into the passenger seat to retrieve his phone. “Too early, Scott!” he mutters under his breath. But it wasn’t Scott.

Peter: _I’m shocked you’re actually here. And on time! Are you coming up or just going to sit in your jeep all night like a creeper?_

Stiles glares out his window at Peter spying down on his from his fourth floor apartment above the street. Peter gently waves with his fingers before turning away from the window. Stiles doesn’t even know how to reply to Peter’s text so he doesn’t. At least it gives him the courage he finally needs to leave the comfort of his Jeep and buzz Peter’s apartment.

“Hey. Come on up. Unit 403,” Peter answers through the intercom, an odd waver to his usual stern and stoic voice.

Stiles bites his tongue, holding back the barrage of witty retorts he concocted in reply to Peter’s text built up at the back of his throat, instead rolling his eyes in disdain. This was a terrible idea but he couldn’t back out now. He had no reason or excuse. He had to at least wait for Scott to contact him, if he even remembered.

“Door’s open,” Peter speaks again. “And security camera caught that eye-roll too. Nicely done. That’s some Liz Lemon realness you’ve got going on.”

“Blerg,” Stiles blurts out as he realizes he’s busted and reluctantly sulks through the door towards the elevator.

Stiles soon finds himself standing in front of the door the Peter’s apartment. Peter could probably hear his heart beating from down the hall. He doesn’t even need to knock when the door flings open to Peter greeting him before he just as quickly turns away. Stiles takes this as a hint to follow his lead into the apartment, gently closing the door behind him. 

He watches as Peter moves hurriedly around his apartment carrying various papers around, tidying up behind himself. He’s well dressed in a tight grey button-up, sleeves rolled up, cuffs clinging to his arms, tucked into a pair of black, well-fitted slacks. No socks but the shirt is capped off with a black, skinny tie. Stiles suddenly feels unexpectedly schlumpy in his Star Wars graphic tee and blue jeans while Peter is dressed to the nines. “Didn’t realize you had a dress code…” he mutters quietly to himself expecting a witty retort that he doesn’t receive.

Stiles’ eyes narrow as they scan across Peter’s apartment. It’s a moderately sized, studio loft, sparsely decorated and minimalistically furnished with a pair of white leather couches and dark oak wood furniture. Everything looks pristine and brand new, almost as if Peter’s never sat on the couch and spent the day with Netflix. Bedroom was upstairs above the living space and out of sight but Stiles made the assumption it probably looked much the same. It felt more like a house than a home. “Nice place. Not the network of underground caves and tunnels I was lead to believe though,” Stiles eventually says to break the awkward silence and Peter mills around the apartment, meticulously cleaning.

“Huh? Oh thanks,” he brushes Stiles off as he dusts off another surface. Joke completely wasted. Stiles can’t really tell but Peter almost seemed nervous or anxious, a very stark contrast to the usually snarky and sarcastically chipper werewolf who let Stiles into his abode. “Liquor is in the bottom two shelves of that cabinet,” he points across from the couch. “Lemme know what you like.”

“Sure…” Stiles takes a couple of steps before pausing, turning on his feet, and mustering up the courage to ask the burning question at the back of his mind. “Is...everything okay? I mean-I can leave if this is a bad time. Well, you did invite me over… _And_ up.... But I don’t want to intrude.”

Peter eventually stops and finally addresses Stiles. “Sorry. I’m just... not used to having company. Makes me a bit on-edge. I didn’t think you’d actually show or come up. Just a bit weird having someone else here with me.”

Stiles looks confused. “So, you invited me over expecting that I _wouldn’t_ show up? I’m sorry I exceeded your expectations…?”

“I prefer to go out but you’re not old enough to drink yet. It’s easier to remove myself from a situation than have to force people to leave here. I can only take so much social interaction before I want to tear someone's throat open.”

“You and me both,” Stiles jokes back with Peter, actually eliciting somewhat of a smile from him. “When’s the last time you had someone over…?”

“Never,” he bluntly snaps back, as if Stiles had found a sore spot. “Don’t like people in my space,” Peter shrugs. “Especially after the fire.”

“Is that why you always go to Derek’s?”

Peter scoffs. “Like he ever comes here even when I _do_ invite him.”

“But you invited me here and here I am! Who’da thunk it?” Stiles laughs as he opens the liquor cabinet to take a closer look. 

“Yeah… You are.” Unbeknownst to Stiles, another brief smile appears on Peter’s face as he fondly watches Stiles rummage through his stash while he grabs various shot glasses, mixers, and tumblers from around his kitchen and sets them up on the breakfast counter.

The liquor cabinet is neatly organized. There are exactly two bottles of everything, one roughly half full in their original, labelled bottles while the other are in various amounts in unmarked bottles aside from a brief note of what liquor. “ _Grey Goose… Hendricks… Patron Gold…_ ” he rifles through the seemingly endless number of bottles.

“What do you think?” Peter asks as he appears behind Stiles. 

“You have a lot of stuff but why the second bottles?”

“Laced with wolfsbane and various other plants. Not for human consumption. Werewolves metabolize alcohol at a much faster rate than humans so we can’t get drunk on regular alcohol or it just becomes a really expensive hobby. This gives us a little bit of extra help so we can enjoy some of the side effects,” Peter explains. “Just a lil bit would probably be lethal to you though.”

“Well, isn’t that just delightful?”

“Anything you don’t like?” he kneels down beside Stiles. “All the stuff in the original bottles is untouched and safe for you to drink.”

“Not too big on tequila,” he points to the bottle of Patron Gold. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a good experience with it. Makes me think of spring break and regrettable hook-ups.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Peter cocks his head to the side with a devilish smirk on his face. “Have you had _good_ tequila like this though? Maybe it’ll lead to a good hook-up.”

“Probably not. I’m a broke college student. I kind of drink on a cheap budget of desperation and despair.”

“Well there’s no budget tonight. We’ll give this a _shot_ ,” Peter pulls out the matching pair of tequila bottles.

“I hope your puns get better when you drink because that was pretty weak, even for you.”

“Shut up and grab the gin and vodka,” Peter orders as he grabs the tequila and another green liquor. Stiles watches quietly as he lines up the bottles on the counter between them. There’s two of almost everything: two bottles of all the liquors, two tumbler glasses, two shot glasses, two cocktail shakers, two fancy ornate spoons, various mixers...and one single red cup.

“Are we gonna play beer pong? Or flip cup? Because I will destroy you,” Stiles boasts picking up the Solo cup and tossing it back and forth between his hands.

“I was hoping you’d ask. This is the last time you ever lay hands on one of these. If you want to drink with me, you drink with dignity. Got it?”

“Wow, okay. That got serious. But sure. Consider it done,” he passes the cup back to Peter who crumples it up with ease. “So, what are these for?” Stiles asks as he picks up one of the spoons twisting it back and forth between his thumb and index finger, inspecting it carefully. The spoons are intricately designed, flat, with slots where there’s a typical curved bowl. “Doesn’t seem very effective,” he peers through one of the slots at Peter.

“They’re absinthe spoons,” Peter taps the bottle with the green colored liquid.

“Absinthe? No way!” Stiles looks on with awe. “So what are the spoons for?”

“You use the spoons to drip-dissolve the sugar and into the absinthe. We’ll work our way up to that. We’ll begin with something less complicated.” Peter puts his hands around the bottlenecks of the gin and vodka. “Which do you want to start with?”

“How about the Grey Goose?” Stiles licks his lips in anticipation.

“Gonna make us both the same, simple drink: vodka cranberry.”

Stiles quietly rocks back and forth on his feet as Peter quickly mixes up two separate drinks: vodka, cranberry juice, splash of lime, splash of orange juice, and pours them out over ice into the matching tumbler glasses. Stiles can’t help but stare at Peter’s forearms as his muscles flex with every motion.

“Cheers. Happy nineteenth birthday, Stiles,” Peter raises the glass towards him.

“Not for another…” Stiles pauses as he digs his phone out of his pocket placing it on the counter. “Three hours!” He picks up his glass. “But cheers!”

The glasses clink together as Peter takes a swig of his drink. Stiles pauses, drink in hand, as he watches Peter sip his beverage, his eyes peering at Stiles over the top of his glass. “What?” he asks as he swallows another sip.

“How do I know you didn’t get our drinks mixed up?” Stiles cautiously sniffs his glass. “For all I know, this could be some elaborate ploy for you to murder me.”

“I’m careful with my drinks. And if you think I’d actually go through the effort of trying to kill you now after actually inviting you over, one: I would have just slashed your throat already. Poisoning is too much effort. And two: I wouldn’t do it here. Too much mess to clean up,” Peter grins mischievously.

Stiles hesitates before pushing the glass up to his lips. “Guess I’ll take solace in that. Bottoms up!” he chugs the drink in a matter of seconds. “That was good! Goes down a lot smoother than other vodkas I’ve had. What’s next?” he asks with eagerness.

“Easy, kid,” Peter rolls his eyes as Stiles triumphantly slams the glass on the counter. “Take the time to savor the flavors and aromas,” Peter casually swirls his glass under his nose. “This isn’t a competition. You do that with absinthe and you’ll be on the floor before you know it.”

“S-sorry,” he sheepishly apologizes. “Can I get another drink then?”

“You’ll wait until I’m done. We’re drinking together. Pace yourself.”

Stiles drops his shoulders as he leans his elbows against the cool granite counter, the warmth of the vodka settling in his stomach. He’s startled when his phone rumbles against the counter. He looks up at Peter, staring back at him with an arched eyebrow.

“He’s late,” Peter says between sips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ve known you long enough now to know how you two operate.”

Stiles glances at his phone again, Scott’s unanswered text waiting for a reply, and back up at Peter.

“Go ahead,” Peter granting him permission to use his phone.

Scott: _Everything good?_

Stiles ponders Scott’s question as Peter watches on. To the best of Stiles’ knowledge, he had nothing worry about. Peter has been gracious enough to let Stiles into his apartment and, for all he knew, he was the first person Peter has _ever_ had over. Peter’s guard was down. It was a side of Peter that Stiles had yet to experience and he was enjoying it.

Stiles: _A-okay_  
Scott: _10-4 good buddy_

“You ditching me in favor of greener pastures?” Peter asks as his finishes off his drink.

“Sorry to say you’re stuck with me for now,” Stiles shrugs as he tucks his phone into his pocket. “I can think of worse ways to spend my birthday.”

~~~~~

Several rounds of vodka-crans and gin and tonics later, Peter finally cuts a couple of limes open as he pours out matching shots of tequila. “When’s the last time you had tequila?” he asks carefully passing the shot glass and lime wedge to Stiles, the influence of the alcohol clearly taking effect as he steadies his wobbly hand. Stiles can’t help but notice the dopey grin all over Peter’s face as if he’s genuinely enjoying his company at the very moment.

“Ummmm,” Stiles thinks as he sways back and forth on his feet. “Maybe one of Lyd’s parties? Tend to avoid it since then.”

“You remember how do it?”

“Think so.”

Peter licks the back of his own hand, sprinkling salt on the piece of skin between his thumb and index finger. “Lick, shot, suck,” he slowly mimics the movements out to Stiles, passing him the shaker.

“I don’t know if I’m coordinated enough to do this right now. I’ve had…” Stiles tries to count on his fingers, “...probably too many drunks. Drinks. Too many drinks.”

“S’not even midnight yet.” The clock reads 11:45. “And we haven’t broken into the absinthe.”

“Fine fine…” Stiles relents. “So it’s lick…” he runs his tongue across his hand, eyes fixated on Peter, “...shot…” he motions with an imaginary shot glass, “...suck…?” he holds the lime slice between his fingers.

“You got it,” Peter winks as Stiles’ heartbeat flutters.

Stiles carefully spreads salt on the back of his moist hand under Peter’s careful supervision. “I guess cheers?” he reluctantly says, not at all looking forward to his impending shot.

The shot glasses clink together as they carry out the tequila ritual. Their eyes meet as they both lick the salt off their own hands, quickly throwing back the shot of tequila, biting down and sucking the juices out of the lime. Stiles quickly drops the lime, clamping his hand over his mouth as the tequila works its way down. “GOD. That is just as awful as I remember it being.”

“Still not a fan?” Peter licks his lips of the remaining lime juice.

“Not at all! I don’t understand how someone can enjoy that. Ugh,” he takes a swig of water, rinsing his mouth clean. “There is _nothing_ redeeming about that.”

“Alright, so still no tequila,” Peter says as if making a mental list of what alcohols Stiles did and didn’t like. “Think you’re ready to try absinthe?”

“Anything’s gotta be better than that shit.”

“Gonna do something different for each of us this time.”

Stiles watches quietly as Peter fills the bottom of a glass with a small amount of absinthe for Stiles. He then takes one of the absinthe spoons and balances it on top of the glass. He grabs a sugar cube, placing it on the slotted area of the spoon carefully pouring ice cold water over the sugar cube as it dissolves and melts into the diluting absinthe below.

“This is a sipping alcohol. Don’t chug it down like your other drinks,” he removes the spoon and hands the drink to Stiles. “Now for my drink…” Peter dims the lights on the kitchen before setting up his glass.

“Oh good. I look better in dull lighting,” Stiles jokes as a brief smirk appears on Peter’s face.

Peter grabs a sugar cube, placing it on the spoon, and carefully pours absinthe into his cup over the sugar cube.. He reaches for a lighter, setting the absinthe soaked sugar cube ablaze in an azure blue flame. Stiles can’t help but snap a photo on his phone as he watches the spectacle unfold in front of him. The sugar bubbles and burns, slowly dripping down into the liquor below. Once the flame has died down, Peter dilutes the absinthe drink with cold water extinguishing any remaining flames.

“Oh man! I want one of those!”

“Let’s make sure you like the drink you have first. This stuff is expensive. I don’t want you to waste anything,” Peter explains swirling the glass in his hand. “They call it ‘ _la fée verte_ ’ or The Green Fairy. Locked in the bottle, she was considered to be a symbol or embodiment of the drink, the consumer reaching a state of enlightenment and transformation after drinking it due to its apparent psychoactive properties.”

“Like hallucinogens?” Stiles clarifies as he takes a sniff of his drink. 

“Exactly. Certain ingredients were thought to have hallucinogenic side-effects and as a result, it was banned by prohibitionists for nearly a century across Europe.”

“Is it safe to drink…?” he asks with hesitation eying his glass suspiciously.

“As safe as any other alcoholic beverage.. A lot of the mythos surrounding absinthe were debunked with modern day science and the bans have been repealed, making it readily available. But I’m sure you’re already well versed in actual psychedelics, aren’t you?” Peter grins slyly.

“Alright! Enough talking. Let’s drink!” Stiles raises his glass to cheers Peter as they both taste The Green Fairy.

Peter waits for Stiles’ reaction as he slowly lowers the glass from his mouth. “Well…?”

“That’s potent stuff!” Stiles winces a bit as he swallows. “But it tastes pretty good.”

“You like it?” Peter asks pleased.

“Yeah. I could get used to this. And by this I mean drinking all of your alcohol free of charge,” he laughs.

“Your birthday only happens once a year. I’m not some sugar daddy.”

“That’s what you think,” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows as he takes another sip.

~~~~~

Both Peter and Stiles soon sit with empty glasses in front of them, both a bit worse for wear and with a serious case of drunken giggles.

“So wait, wait…” Stiles slurs his words holding the bottle of absinthe firmly in his grip. “How do you do this again?”

“Watch carefully. Spoon has a notch here,” Peter demonstrates.

“Where?” Stiles snatches the spoon from Peter’s hand inspecting the wrong end of it very carefully. Peter reaches over the counter and turns it around in his hands, pointing out the notch in the handle. “Oohhhhhhh okay okay! Got it!”

“This part sits on the brim of the glass while the flat part balances across the cup, like so,” Peter lays the spoon out. “Sugar cube,” he delicately places it on to the slotted section of the spoon. “Absinthe,” he grabs the wolfsbane infused liquor, pouring it into his glass over the sugar cube. “Add fi-”

“Wait! I want to video this,” Stiles grabs his phone from his pocket. “Okay, I’m recording. Go!”

Peter clears his throat, adjusting the knot on his tie, now well aware the camera was on him. “Add fire,” he places the lit flame against the sugar cube as it ignites. “And, viola.”

Stiles watches in silent awe as the dancing blue flame and hissing of the burning sugar leaves him mesmerized. He can’t decide whether to watch through the screen of his phone or with his own eyes. He glances up at Peter, his face illuminated from below by the diminishing flame, his beta blue eyes flaring through the darkness, matching the color of the fire. “Whoa dude. Your eyes!” Stiles moves the camera’s focus onto Peter’s face.

“Huh?” Peter snaps out of an apparent trance.

“Do that again! Your eyes were glowing blue like the fire!”

“Put that away!” Peter jests as he reaches over the table, pawing at Stiles’ phone.

“Whoa, careful!” Stiles quickly grabs hold of Peter’s tie as it brushes against the flame, lifting it safely out of the way. His fingers linger along the length of his tie until Peter is able to douse the burning sugar with cold water putting out any lasting flame and finishing the creation of his drink.

“Thanks, kid.” Peter smiles as his fingers graze against Stiles’ hands, letting his tie hang back down against his shirt. “Did you want to try it now?”

“Sure!” he says over enthusiastically, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Alright,” he rubs his hands together in anticipation. “Glass!” he grabs his empty cup and places it in front him. “Spoon...Spoon...Where’s my spoon?” he talks to himself, mindlessly drumming the counter as his eyes scour the counter full of bottles and used shot glasses until he locates his absinthe spoon. “Got it!”

“Remember to line up the notch.”

“Notch. Notch…” With drunken hands, Stiles lays the spoon on top of the glass but he misses the notch, knocking the glass over sending both it and the spoon falling onto the counter. “Shit. Shit! Did I break it?” Stiles quickly uprights the glass.

“You’re fine. Just be careful,” Peter chuckles as he makes his way around the counter. “Here, let me help.” Peter’s feet bookend Stiles’ as he supervises from over his shoulder. His chest is pressed close against Stiles’ back pinning him in the space between the counter. Peter’s fingers trace down Stiles’ arms to help him correct his balance, his weathered hands shadowing Stiles’ nimble fingers. “Steady hands…” Peter whispers breathlessly over Stiles’ shoulder as the spoon slides into place.

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief as he finally lets go of the spoon. Sugar cube now in position, he carefully pours absinthe over it before grabbing the lighter and setting it ablaze in success. As he takes a step back to admire his work, he bumps into Peter still supervising from behind. Peter’s hands quickly support a well-intoxicated Stiles from toppling over, much to his appreciation. “Th-thanks,” Stiles stumbles over his words as his eyes are hypnotized by the flame, his knees weak by Peter’s sudden and unexpected touch.

Stiles shuffles forward against the counter only to be followed close behind by Peter, his warmth pressed up against Stiles’ back, chin resting on Stiles’ shoulder as they both watch the dance of the Green Fairy together. Stiles can’t help but lean back against Peter to keep himself upright and feel the soft comfort of his hard body leaning back onto him.

“What...what are you doing…?” Stiles asks drunkenly dropping his head back onto Peter’s shoulder, watching the shadows of the flame spread across the ceiling. His heartbeat flickers as he feels Peter’s warm breath exhaling onto his shirt.

“What am I doing…?” Peter asks his eyes falling closed as he breathes in the increasingly pleasant scent radiating from Stiles’ body. His hands brace the counter on either side of Stiles, keeping them both on their feet. “What are you doing?”

“I asked you first.”

“Don’t forget about your drink,” the sugar still burning in front of them.

“Don’t change the subject.” Stiles squirms and shimmies in the tight space between Peter and the counter, turning around to look at him face-to-face. “What. Are. You. Doing?” Stiles asks him again poking his chest at every word.

Peter leans in unexpectedly close, cocking his head to the side as he stares down Stiles. “Why?” Stiles can feel his breath brushing against his cheek, his mouth hovering mere inches away. “Is there...something you want me to do…?”

Stiles breath hitches as Peter waits for his response. “My drink-”

“What happened to don’t change the subject?” he retorts.

“Need to put out the flame…”

Peter frots up hard against the front of Stiles’ jeans. “Don't start fires you're not willing to extinguish, Stiles...” he purrs seductively taking a step back to allow Stiles to turn around and subdue the lingering fire. He turns back to face Peter again, this time drink in hand. He pushes it towards his lips before Peter interrupts him, gripping the glass over top of Stiles’ hand. “Allow me?” he asks.

Stiles nods silently as he let’s Peter take control.

“Tilt your head up,” he instructs as he lifts the glass higher. Stiles stretches his neck up and out, his lips barely pressed against the rim of the glass, eager to taste the absinthe. “Ready?”

Stiles nods silently again as Peter tilts the glass forward. A small amount of absinthe falls into Stiles mouth as he readily swallows it down. Peter tips it a bit further as a dribble of liquid slips out of the corner of Stiles’ lips. Stiles shivers as he feels the cold absinthe trickling down his chin and the length of his neck before being absorbed by the collar of his t-shirt.

“Looks like I spilled a little bit,” Peter observes as he places Stiles’ glass on the counter behind him. “Let me get that for you.”

His head still tilted upwards, Stiles freezes as he sees Peter advance out of the corner of his eye. He feels Peter’s nose brush the soft skin of his neck as teeth clamp on his shirt collar, sucking at the absinthe soaked into the fabric. He feels a tongue lapping at his neck, slowly advancing up towards his jawline, stopping at the corner of his mouth.

Stiles is tense and antsy. More so than normal. Stiles didn’t need this but he wanted it. An uneasy feeling rumbled in the bit of the stomach but he attributed that to the high volume of alcohol consumed in the past few hours in the surprisingly pleasant company of Peter. He stood in front of Stiles waiting for some form of reply or acknowledgement to his advances. Stiles figured his chemosignals already smelled like a weird combination of alcohol, anxiety, and arousal but Peter was waiting for physical reciprocation taking it any further, letting Stiles continue only if he wanted it to.

“Peter… I-”

“Wait…” Peter places his finger over Stiles’ lips. He intently focuses on something over Stiles shoulder. He sits in silence for a few seconds, a drunken grin slowly appearing on his face before speaking up again. “Okay. Happy birthday, Stiles.”

Stiles looks over his shoulder at the clock on the stove brightly displaying 12:00. He looks back at Peter in a state of disbelief as his hands quickly fall around his tie pulling him in for a passionate first kiss at the stroke of midnight. Peter’s hands grasp the back of Stiles’ thighs, effortlessly lifting him onto the counter, knocking over glasses and spilling open bottles, sticky alcohol soaking into Stiles’ jeans. His legs wrap around Peter’s waist, pulling him in close as they feverishly explore each other’s mouths.

‘You know…” Peter starts between kisses. “This is all your fault,” he growls hands grabbing at Stiles’ hair. “If you hadn’t spilled liquor down your neck…”

“My-” he groans as Peter bites his lower lip. “My fault? You spilled-”

“You _had_ to try the absinthe!”

“You insisted!”

They both stop as series of text messages suddenly barrage Stiles’ phone still sitting on the counter beside him. Wide-eyed, Stiles looks back and forth between Peter and his phone, not sure how to proceed.

“Who is it?” Peter asks sternly.

“Let’s s-” He jumps as his phone starts blasting the Star Wars’ Imperial March theme in his hands, nearly dropping it before Peter helps him catch it.

“H-hello?”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYYYYYYYY!” Scott and Kira scream through the other end of the phone.

“Holy shit guys. I’m now deaf in my left ear. Thanks.”

“We just wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday!” 

Stiles knew they weren’t first but he wouldn’t tell them that. “Thanks! You guys are awesome.”

“We good to go for tomorrow still?” Scott asks.

Stiles pauses looking at Peter before answering. “I think so. I got someone to help me out with liquor but we’ll have to find somewhere to drink still.”

“You got a new source? Who is it?”

“A true magician never reveals his secrets but a little green fairy helped me out,” he winks at Peter who all but throws himself at Stiles, eager to taste more of him. “Sc-Scott?” Stiles neck cranes towards his phone as Peter is slowly pulling it out of his hand. “Gotta go. See ya tomorr-” Peter hangs up on him before he can finish putting Stiles’ phone out of reach.

He easily picks up Stiles off the counter carrying him around until they fall over the arm of the couch, Peter laying on top of him grinding his hips hard against Stiles, resuming their previous argument. “If you had only left when Scott texted-”

“Why would _I_ leave?! It was you! _You_ practically dragged me up here with your-” Peter’s stubble burns down the side of his face. “-taunting! Trying to-” Stiles moans into the side of the couch as Peter’s teeth graze and nibble along his neck. “- _refine my palate!_ ”

“You didn’t have to-” Peter huffs exhaling sharply as Stiles fumbles with his buttons, opening his shirt up to the cool apartment air. Stiles hands slide under Peter’s arms and around his back, his nails scratching his warm skin. “-you weren’t supposed to show up! Nobody ever does.”

“Yeah? Well, I did!” Stiles could have sworn he was wearing a t-shirt a moment ago as Peter’s chest presses against his, their bodies sliding together, Peter’s large, muscular frame easily dwarfing Stiles. “If Derek had only agreed to-” Peter’s tongue slides into Stiles’ mouth as their bodies intertwine and roll on the couch, Stiles fumbling with Peter’s belt before he removes it himself, throwing it across the room.

“If Derek ever accepted my invites.”

Stiles breaks their kiss and sits up on Peter’s lap. “So, this is Derek’s fault?”

Peter flashes a mischievous grin before agreeing with Stiles conclusion. “Derek’s fault.” 

Peter easily rises back to his feet, holding all of Stiles weight before lifting him over his shoulder. “Hey!” Stiles playfully struggles to be put down as Peter ascends the stairs up to his bedroom, a firm palm slapping him on the ass.

“These pants are soaked. They’re gonna have to come off,” Peter orders as he puts Stiles back down on his feet just short of his bedroom.

Stiles turns his back to Peter while he slowly removes his pants. He can hear Peter panting behind him as his jeans start to stick to his thighs. He turns around to sit on the stairs to gain some extra leverage and balance. He can’t help but stare at the dishevelled Peter looming over him: hair askew, unbuttoned shirt but still wearing a tie. He looks ready to pounce on Stiles and fuck him right there on the stairs. Not that Stiles would mind.

Stiles gets his pants down to his ankles before Peter observes the dark stain already forming on his boxers. “Got a bit of a problem there?”

“This,” Stiles points aggressively at his tented boxer shorts and then up at Peter. “ _This_ is your fault.”

“Yeah?” Peter challenges him as he advances up a stair, placing Stiles at eye-level with the waistband of his pants. He curls a pair of fingers under Stiles’ chin as he guides him closer to his waistline. “And what’re you gonna do about it?” Stiles doesn’t break eye contact with Peter as he runs his tongue across his abdomen, tasting the salt and sweat off his body, his own fingers dancing along the waistband of his boxers until Peter instructs him to stop. “Not gonna make it that easy for you. No touching allowed.”

“But-”

“If you wanna come…” Peter bends down pressing their foreheads together as he perches over Stiles on the stairs. “...you gotta work for it.” 

Stiles lets out a weak whimper. 

“And you wanna come, don’t you, Stiles?” he taunts. 

Stiles nods eagerly, his tongue nervously pushing against the inside of his mouth.

“Then follow instructions and I’ll give you what you like.” Peter crawls on hands and knees up the stairs, kisses and gently nips at Stiles’ neck nestling his ascension towards his bedroom. 

Peter's room is almost exactly like Stiles imagined: large bed, white linens, same darkwood furniture set as the lower floor his loft. Stiles doesn't get too much of a view before he's pushed back onto to the bed, Peter quickly on top of him, still mostly dressed.

"Why am I nearly naked while you're still wearing your fucking tie?!"

"Fine." Peter rips the tie off with one clean pull, flips Stiles over onto his stomach, binding his wrists together behind his back before turning him back over. "That better?" he asks with a smirk on his face.

"No. Still too much clothing," Stiles complains, eager to see more of Peter's physique. "But this?" he tugs at the restraint. "Is a good start."

"Just wanna make sure you follow your instructions and don't jump the gun."

Peter grabs Stiles by the ankles, situating him at the edge of his bed, boxers still tented at full attention. His hands trace along the button-facing of his shirt, pulling tight against his chest as it slowly slides off his shoulder. His hips are moving seductively towards Stiles.

" _Oh god. He's doing a striptease for me!_ " Stiles realizes as Peter's thighs straddle over his knees, shirt now hugging around his wide back, bare chest and shoulders flashing a light sheen of sweat. Precome flows out of Stiles' dripping cock, his eyes fixated on the display in front of him. He knew Peter had to have a great body being a werewolf and all but he looked better that he ever could have imagined: sculpted chest, arms, and shoulders, flat stomach. He wasn't as six-pack ripped as Derek but he could easily give him a run for his money for best werewolf body.

Peter finally removes his shirt from his arms gripping the empty sleeves tightly in his hands. He wraps it around the back of Stiles’ neck, pulling his face against his bulging pants. “See what you’re doing to me, boy?”

Stiles throbbing hard-on wasn’t getting the attention it desperately craved. He wiggles in his boxers the swollen head now poking free through the slit, oozing with precome. Peter peeks down at Stiles’ exposed cock, frotting his bulge up against it. Stiles throws his head back as the sensitive nerves tingle from the friction of Peter’s pants, a thick string of precome dangling between the slit on Stiles’ erection and Peter’s confining pants.

As Peter pulls back from his striptease, Stiles leans in to clean up the mess he’d left behind. His tongue laps at his own precome, cleaning the front of Peter’s pants, mouth pressing hard against the swollen member beneath the fabric. “F-fuck…” Peter mutters as he pops the button, unzipping his pants for Stiles. He shimmies them down his thighs, revealing an impressive, straining bulge in tight black briefs.

Stiles' mouth waters at the sight of Peter in front of him in nothing but tight and revealing underwear. If his hands weren't still bound behind his back, he'd be all over Peter, touching, feeling, and tasting every inch of his body. It doesn't take long before Stiles' gets his wish. Peter again straddles across Stiles' thighs, sitting up on his knees. The waistband of his briefs resting on Stiles' chin. Stiles kisses and licks gently across Peter's adonis belt. He can feel Peter straining and flexing his cock against him, eager for Stiles to turn his attention elsewhere. Stiles obliges, his teeth gingerly clamping on the elastic carefully pulling it down, freeing Peter's impressive cock. 

Stiles has seen his fair share of cocks in porn but not as many in person. Peter was well endowed in both length and girth with big heavy balls hanging below. Stiles could tell by the look on Peter’s face he was proud of what he had to work with and he was all about showing Stiles how good he was with it. Scott had never bragged about being well-hung. He wanted to ask Peter if this was genetic to all born-werewolves but figured now was not the time nor the place. 

He leans forward, gently running his tongue along the sensitive underside of Peter’s swollen head. Stiles can’t help but smile as Peter shudders and curses obscenities under his breath. He knows he hit the right spot as Peter glares back down at him, wanting more. Stiles hangs his tongue out, just out of reach of Peter’s now dripping cock.

“Boy…” Peter grits his teeth as he grabs the base of his member firmly. “You gotta give me more than that.” Peter taps it against Stiles tongue, leaving a mix of precome and saliva hanging between Stiles’ mouth and Peter’s cock. “Get it all nice and lubed up for me.”

Stiles eagerly licks his lips before opening his mouth just wide enough for the head of Peter’s cock to push past his lips. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive tip maintaining eye-contact with Peter the entire time. “All the way…” Peter growls under his breath as he pushes his hips forward. Stiles widens his expression to accommodate Peter’s length before he feels his nose graze against Peter’s body and retracts. “Good boy,” Peter rewards him with a smile, his hands ruffling through Stiles’ hair.

Peter squeezes the length of his cock, a drop of precome forming at the tip that’s quickly licked off. Stiles smacks his tongue and lips together as he tastes Peter before sliding his erection back into his mouth. Peter’s hand tightens his grip on Stiles’ hair, helping guide him back and forth down the length of his cock, fucking Stiles’ warm mouth. “You like it?” Peter asks.

“Mmmhmm,” Stiles answers back as best possible with Peter still filling his mouth.

Peter pulls back and out of Stiles’ mouth. He bends over, whispering into Stiles’ ear, “Gonna feel even better in your ass.” He kisses behind Stiles’ ear, down his neck, and across his collarbone. Stiles whimpers still unable to stimulate himself but wanting to do his utmost to make sure Peter enjoys himself, which, he assumes, will inturn ensure Peter makes sure Stiles has a good time. So far, so good.

Peter's mouth hovers just over the tip of Stiles' swollen head. He shivers as Peter's breath brushes against it. He tilts his hips upwards ever-so-slightly in hopes that Peter will grant him the touch and release he so desperately aches for. 

"Tell me what you want," he looks up at Stiles, his fingers teasing along the fabric of his precome soaked boxers.

"You," Stiles blurts back immediately. 

"That's not very specific."

"Want you to fuck me," Stiles whines impatiently into Peter’s ear.

Peter tilts his head with another taunt. "Still not specific enough, Stiles.”

"Give me the best fuck I'll ever have. Make me compare everything to this night for the rest of my life. And you'd better set the bar high," Stiles smirks smugly knowing he’s feeding Peter’s ego exactly what it wants. “Show me the alpha that you’re meant to be.”

"You may not be a wolf but when I'm done with you..." he nips lightly at Stiles' neck, "...you'll be howlin' my name.” Peter's fingers stop hooking gently at the boxer slit around Stiles' thoroughly ignored erection. He pulls quickly and carefully, shredding the boxers off of Stiles while he's still wearing them. A look of shock appears on Stiles' face as Peter chucks the torn pieces of fabric across the room. "Those were my lucky boxers!"

"Well, consider yourself lucky," Peter smirks as he crawls over Stiles, rolling him back onto the bed, legs in the air, now completely naked and vulnerable.

Stiles' eyes narrow in a combative way. "You owe me for those," he hisses.

"Don't worry, I'll repay you," Peter purrs back as he settles between Stiles thighs, his hard cock still soaked with spit and precome gently pressing up against Stiles' ass.

Stiles eyes go wide as Peter grinds against him, his slick cock sliding effortlessly between Stiles' cheeks. "Works better when it's inside me," Stiles sasses him.

"Half the fun is getting there, Stiles. Wouldn't you agree?" Peter asks him as his hands tweak at his sensitive nipples. The reaction is more than pleasing as Stiles bucks his hips against Peter's abdomen, spreading his precome against Peter; the first time he's been allowed to stimulate himself all night. Stiles is enthralled as Peter's mouth latches on to his chest, licking and gently biting as his nipple, delightful and breathless groans and hums eliciting from Stiles with every touch. "And I'm not gonna fuck you until you're lubed up and ready to go."

Stiles pants as Peter's cock playfully teases against his hole, applying pressure but not penetrating. "Then what are you-Oh god..." Stiles trembles into the crook of Peter's shoulder as Peter's tongue travels the length of his collarbone, up his neck and behind his ear. "-waiting for?" he finally musters out.

The grin on Peter's face warns Stiles for what he's in for. Peter rolls him out from under his body, propping him up on his knees, his shoulders and head resting against the comforter of the bed, hands still bound by Peter's tie. He positions himself between Stiles' legs using the force of his own knees to spread him apart. He works his way up behind Stiles, throbbing erection again settling between Stiles' cheeks, roughly sliding back and forth much to Stiles' begging.

He leans on top of Stiles, the weight of his body settling against Stiles as he grunts into Stiles' ear. "I hope you're ready for this," is all he says before he pulls back.

"Ready for wh- mmm _oh god_ , Peter!" The wetness of Peter's cock has been replaced with the warm breath and slickness of his tongue as he laps eagerly at Stiles' twitching hole. "Mmm... Mmhmm... Uh-huh...ho-holy shit!" Stiles groans as Peter continues his oral assault.

Peter runs his tongue the full length of Stiles' backside, from underneath his balls, across his hole, stopping just below his tailbone. Stiles relishes in the stinging burn of Peter's scruff and it rubs his sensitive skin in all the places he's never felt it before. Peter brings his tongue to a point and presses it inwards to the tight ring of muscles. Stiles is very vocal about how he feels, finding it hard to contain the throws of ecstasy currently pulsing through his body. Peter's eyes must have caught his fingers fighting with the bindings as Stiles finds his hands are suddenly free. He props himself up on his hands, now easily able to push back against Peter's tongue, trying to feel the most out of every lick.

Peter rolls him back over, pushing Stiles up onto his shoulders, ass in the air, folding Stiles' legs close to his chest. He helps keep Stiles elevated by balancing him against his thighs and chest. He's now able to rim Stiles and see every subtle change and nuance in his expression, knowing exactly when he's hitting the right spots.

Stiles clamps his eyes shut, trying to maintain his composure as he aches for release. As he feels Peter's fingers brush against his lips, he eagerly wraps his tongue around them, leaving them slick and wet with his saliva. Peter retracts his hand as Stiles feels it graze over his ass. A wet finger gently circles around Stiles' hole before slowly pushing inwards to the first knuckle.

"You okay?" Peter asks as he slowly proceeds with his finger.

"Mmhmm!" he elicits an enthusiastic reaction from Stiles.

It's not long before the full length Peter's finger is inside Stiles tight warmth. Peter twists it around as he slowly withdraws it before pushing all the way back in. He bends his finger to brush against the sensitive bundle of nerves before pulling the single digit out.

"More," Stiles pleads panting breathlessly.

Peter smirks as he wets a pair of fingers before pushing them both slowly into Stiles. He starts pumping Stiles' hole with a rhythmic motion, stretching out Stiles and carefully stimulating his prostate with each passing of his fingers.

Precome is dripping down from Stiles' across his chest and chin. He wipes himself clean reaching behind his back and between Peter's legs at his still rock-hard erection. He gently strokes Peter with his slick hand at the same rhythm that Peter finger-fucks him, trying to signal to him that's he's ready and eager to be fucked. Peter shimmies back letting Stiles down on to his back before lifting him up onto his lap, his cock curving up between his ass.

Their foreheads press together in a sweaty mess of matted hair as they feverishly kiss each other. "You want it?" he asks into Stiles' mouth between lip-locked moments..

"Fuckin need it. Need you inside me."

"I love a bottom who knows what he wants," he bites at Stiles' lower lip. "C'mere," he instructs as he pulls them back against the headboard. Stiles sits comfortably on Peter's lap while he smacks his cock against Stiles' spit-slicked hole. The look on Stiles' face is that of pure bliss with each moment of contact. "Yeah?" is all Peter says as he reaches for the nearby bottle of lube.

"Yeah..."

Stiles ruts back against Peter's erection, grinding his own on Peter's abdomen, their bodies fitting together perfectly. His hands tightly grip the headboard for added leverage as he frots back and forth on top of Peter. Peter's hands grab and claw at Stiles' bubblebutt spreading him wide open as he slides lube over the length of his cock and around Stiles' hole.

"Whenever you're ready..." Peter whispers into his ear. "Line it up, just like I taught you earlier," he winks mischievously.

Stiles swallows nervously, carefully pushes up on his knees holding Peter's cock firmly beneath him. The head pushes against Stiles' hole as he slowly sinks himself down onto Peter's thickness. Air hisses between Stiles' teeth as the feeling between his thighs burn as Peter's cock slides inwards, stretching out the tight ringed muscle. Stiles huffs and winces as he gradually works his way down Peter's cock to the base.

"God. You're _so_ fucking tight," Peter says struggling to contain the wolf inside now that he's one with Stiles. "Feel good?"

"Ye-yeah," Stiles musters through the last of the stinging pain as Peter was all the way in. 

Stiles rests the side of his head against Peter's shoulder while he gets accustomed to the tight fit. "I'll go slow," Peter says gently, his hand stroking the small of Stiles' back. "If you need me to stop, just say so. We want this to be a birthday to remember." Stiles lets out a sigh of discomfort and overwhelming arousal as Peter's shifts his hips, slowly sliding out of Stiles before pushing all the way back in before stopping again. "Okay?"

"Yeah... You feel so good inside me."

"Good," Peter exhales as he gives Stiles another slow pump of his hips. "It's supposed to feel good. You and me like this just feels so right."

"Mm _hmm_ ," is all Stiles can muster as Peter gradually picks up the pace, holding tightly onto Peter for stability, his thighs and ass bouncing happily on Peter's lap. "Ahh fuck," Stiles groans as the curve of Peter's cock hits perfectly against his prostate.

"Right _there_ , huh?" Peter thrusts upwards, hitting hard against Stiles' spot.

"Ahh!" Stiles pants breathlessly against Peter's neck, each forceful thrust running through his body like a shockwave of ecstasy. “Pe-Peter…” Stiles huffs trying to catch his breath.

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm. Yeah."

Peter pulls all the way out, much to Stiles' displeasure. He teases his cock against Stiles' twitching hole before pushing all the way back in. Stiles lets out a loud groan as Peter fills him again. He kisses Peter passionately as he settles back onto Peter's cock. His hands grip on top of his shoulders as he slowly builds up a rhythm, riding him from tip to base. "You gonna ride me like a good bottom?"

"Mmmm," Stiles can't even form words as he bobs up and down on Peter's lap.

"Tell me how good it feels."

"So..." Stiles moans. "So good. _God_ Peter!"

"Yeah?" Peter asks breathy and panting. His hands explore Stiles' smooth, pale skin, brushing along his chest, sliding his thumb and index fingers around Stiles' nipples and pinching hard.

"Unhh y-yeah!" Stiles yells out between pumps, clenching tightly as Peter tweaks his sensitive nipples. He exhales with every sinking motion onto Peter's rock hard cock. Sweat beads on his temples, down his neck, and down the middle of chest. There was intense passion between them as Stiles couldn't help but stare into Peter's eyes with every movement, every touch, every moment of penetration.

Stiles finally takes a break as his leg muscles start to cramp up, Peter's hands quick to rub them for comfort.

"Think I overdid it a bit and the whole drunk thing," he giggles wiping the sweat from his face.

Peter leans forward from the headboard, pushing up on his hands to meet Stiles chest to chest. His tongue runs along the drips of sweat along his collarbone, his lips pressing hard against his skin, leaving tiny love bruises to mark his handiwork. "Want you to remember who you belong to now," Peter grins as his lips separate from Stiles' skin.

Stiles hands link together around the back of Peter's neck as he gradually bucks his hips on Peter's lap. "Already claiming me?" he plays coy. "We haven't even finished here yet."

"I know when I'm done with you tonight, you're gonna come crawling back for more so I'm just making it easier for you."

"Isn't that a tad presumptuous?"

"Am I wrong?"

Stiles purses his lips not wanting to give the answer Peter already knew and not wanting to fib to a supernatural lie detector. He'd never seen Peter the way he was tonight and the way he was right now. It was a different layer of Peter that Stiles didn't know he had. He'd probably be maimed for using a word like "soft" or "lonely" but in this moment, they were both enjoying each other's company. Stiles tilts his head back showing Peter exactly where he wants him to leave his mark.

Peter happily obliges as blood rushes just under the surface of Stiles’ skin. He pulls back with a satisfied look on his face. "That's what I _thought_!" Peter quickly flips Stiles underneath him, ankles up on his shoulders and he takes control of the situation.

Stiles groans as Peter easily pins him down with his weight and strength, relentlessly pounding into him. Each thrust hit Stiles right where he needs it. Their mouths press together in a sloppy but satisfying kiss, Stiles' lips red and swollen from the wear of Peter's stubble against his soft skin. "You gonna come for me?" Peter asks seemingly able to smell Stiles' fast approaching orgasm as his cock is an engorged mess of precome, sliding slickly between their bodies.

"Uh huh!"

"Come on, Stiles. Come with me. Fuck, I'm getting close!"

Stiles pants, arms and legs clinging tightly around Peter's torso, holding on to every lasting moment together. A few more thrusts of contact against his prostate and Stiles can't contain it anymore and starts spraying come all over his abdomen, his muscles clenching and seizing with each overwhelming wave of endorphins pulsing through his body. He tightens up his hole as Peter gives one triumphant last push inwards before his seed spills deep inside Stiles, their lips interlocking again as they seal their deed with one final kiss.

Peter's body finishes with a shudder as he lets Stiles' legs down, draping his body over him. He huffs, exasperated and exhausted but very content after a night of drinking and fucking in celebration of Stiles' birthday. They both lay together quietly, panting breathlessly

Peter breaks the silence first. "Happy birthday, kid," he gives Stiles a peck on the cheek.

"See? Isn't it good to have people over?" Stiles tilts his head to face Peter.

"Well, if I have other people over, when are we gonna have alone time to fuck?"

"Good point," Stiles chuckles as he bathes in the afterglow, Peter's fingers lazily tracing up and down the side of his body.

"How you feelin?"

"Mmm..." Stiles thinks for a moment, his hand running aimlessly through Peter's hair. "Good. Tired now. And still drunk. Pretty good way to start my last year as a teenager! I think it encapsulates everything about being one: sex, booze, and sleep."

"Did you wanna sleep here?" Peter asks.

"Sure, if that’s okay with you. I’m still far too drunk to drive. I could use a shower to get cleaned up though."

“Let me grab you a towel. Bathroom is just over there.”

“And maybe some underwear too? Because, ya know…” Stiles gestures to the shredded and discarded pieces of his lucky boxers strewn about the room.

“No can do. I have a strict no-clothes-in-my-bed policy,” he says rummaging through his linen cabinet. “I get too warm so I always sleep naked. It’s a werewolf thing.”

“And that means _I_ have to sleep naked too?” Stiles arches his eyebrow.

“Yup,” Peter grins. “You’re gonna have to make deal with that,” he replies as he tosses Stiles a fresh towel.

“I’m sure I can manage somehow,” he sighs in an over-exaggerated manner, feigning discomfort but he’s sure Peter can already smell his growing arousal from the idea of laying naked with him all night long.

“Go shower already,” Peter playfully waves him off to go shower as he changes the sex soaked sheets and meticulously remakes the bed in preparation for sleeping. Who knew Peter Hale was a neat freak?

~

Peter wasn't kidding when he said he gets warm when he sleeps. Stiles experiences this first hand when Peter's chest was nestled up against "little spoon" Stiles all night long.

Stiles wakes in Peter's bed shortly before noon hour with a serious case of morning wood. This was probably perpetuated by wandering hands exploring his body and Peter's erection pressed up against the curve of his ass all night long. Stiles figures he's going to have to work on his stamina to keep up with Peter’s seemingly insatiable sex drive. This whole thing with Peter was new and exciting to him. He could still feel the butterflies in his stomach after last night's activities and couldn't wait for round two to commence.

However, Stiles soon realizes there was no warm, werewolf body pushed up against him in bed and that he was alone in Peter's room. On the bedside table, he finds a complete hangover kit: a full glass of water, tylenol, and a banana with a robe hanging nearby. He groggily drags his way out of bed, wiping the morning sleep from his eyes. He quickly downs the water to rehydrate his parched throat, adorns the robe, and slowly shuffles his way out of Peter's room while munching on the banana.

"Peter?" Stiles voice echoes into the seemingly empty apartment. He makes his way downstairs expecting to see Peter reading the morning paper but he isn't there. What is there waiting at the bottom of the stairs is a large gift bag and a card with his name on it.

" _...the hell is this...?_ " Stiles inspects the envelope suspiciously before sliding a finger through the edge of the paper.

_Stiles,_ _Happy birthday! Here's the liquor as promised. And a little something extra. Hope you enjoy your birthday as much as I did ;)_ _~Peter_

Stiles pops the tape holding the bag closed and peers inside to see a several new pairs of different colored underwear on top. They look tight fitting and snug. Must be what Peter likes. He moves them aside and pulls out a brand new bottle of absinthe. " _Holy shit..._ " his eyes go wide at the size of the bottle. He realizes there's more in the bag and pulls out a pair of ornate absinthe glasses and spoons, seemingly triskelion in design.

Stiles carefully places everything back into the bag leaving it by the front door and surveys the damage from last night’s drunken sexcapades: Peter’s apartment looks as pristine as ever. There was no evidence that anything happened aside from a few glasses resting in the drying rack beside the sink. Stiles also learns that Peter is a morning person.

Stiles briefly mills around the kitchen before deciding to head back upstairs for a morning shower to wake himself up. He takes his time, enjoying the warmth of the water washing over his body, his skin still sore and tender from where Peter had marked him the night before.

Toweling himself dry, he rifles through the underwear bought for him by Peter and realizes they're a lot more scandalous than previously observed: brief-cut jock support with the ass cut out. " _Well then..._ " Stiles mutters to himself as he inspects a pair, looking clear through the hole at himself in the fogged mirror. He shrugs and slides them on, adjusting his junk and ass to the elastic straps clinging tight against his thighs. " _Not bad!_ " He slowly dons the rest of his clothes, freshly laundered jeans and t-shirt, washed early in the morning by Peter and folded neatly on the nearby dresser. 

Making his way back downstairs, he’s disappointed to find himself still alone. He was uncertain about leaving, not being able to lock the door without a key but didn’t want to overstay his welcome. He somewhat reluctantly settles onto the couch, turning on the TV and queuing up Netflix. Peter had never set up a profile so he takes the liberty to do so, choosing the most obnoxious icon available.

After adding a slew of recommendations to Peter’s now active Netflix account and several episodes into to Arrested Development, a panting, sweaty, and shirtless Peter returns to his apartment. Stiles can’t help but notice the subtle way his face lights up when he sees him lounging comfortably. “Hey, you’re still here.”

“Those keen werewolf senses,” Stiles smirks with a wink. “Figured it wasn’t a good idea to leave your door unlocked and just up and go without saying goodbye.” His eyes give Peter a once over, his body glistening with sweat but also covered with various scratches and abrasions still slowly healing. “You look like hell. What were you doing?!”

“Needed to go for a run,” he towels some of the sweat off his body with his shirt. “A bit too much pent up energy that I couldn’t ignore. Went through the preserve.”

“Is that why you were up so early?”

“Usually am anyways,” he answers between chugs of water. Stiles can’t help but stare at Peter’ neck with each gulp, sweat pooling along his clavicle, veins still pulsing outwards.

“H-How are you feeling now?”

Peter shrugs as he turns off the faucet. “Took the edge off, at least a little bit,” he glances between Stiles and the TV. “What are you doing?”

“Was just killing time until you returned. I really should be getting home soon…” he trails off as he pushes off the couch. “Scott’s been texting me all morning asking about birthday plans and I keep stalling.”

“I see…” A smile faintly appears on Peter’s face as his eyes follow Stiles across the room through the awkward silence. “So... I’ll get to see you again?”

“If you’ll have me over again,” Stiles leans his elbows back against the counter adjacent to Peter. “I know how you feel about visitors in your personal space.”

“You can get into my personal space any time you want,” Peter grins as Stiles blushes. “But you know, Scott is gonna be able to smell everything. He may not know who but he’ll know what.”

“That’s nothing new. I like to keep him guessing.”

“Derek on the other hand…”

A pang of guilt briefly rushes through Stiles’ body before he speaks. “So what?” he snaps, catching Peter off guard. “We’re both consenting adults. He doesn’t get a say in this.”

“I like it when you’re feisty,” Peter laughs as he kisses Stiles’ cheek. “Now get on out of here before I carry you upstairs again.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing…” Stiles plays back as Peter gently coerces him towards the door, his hand on the small of Stiles’ back. “Thanks again for...well everything. The birthday bag was unexpected this morning,” he says reaching down to tie his shoes.

“I told you I’d buy you a bottle of something. It _is_ your birthday after all,” Peter explains as he holds the bag in his hands, waiting to give it to Stiles.

“Oh!” he quickly stands up and hikes his jeans down and bends over for Peter. “And these? Very nice! Thanks for the birthday gift!” he flaunts his ass, snuggly fit into the new underwear.

“Alright! Upstairs we go!” Peter declares as he places the bag down picks Stiles up over his shoulder all in one motion. 

Stiles playfully wiggles in Peter’s arms in protest as they end up back in his bedroom. Happy fucking birthday indeed.


End file.
